


(This kind of Thing) Only Happens in my Dreams

by 1lostone



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Body size differences, Don't Judge Me, I kind of pictured Eames in this fic to be all beefed up a la Bane, M/M, Size Kink, arthur is kind of obsessed, written for i-reversebang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: None of this would have happened if Eames would have just shown him  the fucking tattoos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [ Inception Reverse Bang ](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/) on livejournal.  
> Art for this fic is RobinRedR[ on Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinRedR/pseuds/RobinRedR), and [ on lj](http://robinredr.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Thank you so very much to [EarlGreyTea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68) for the beta. Mistakes are mine because I can't stop futzing with things. 
> 
> As always, thanks to jlm for the everything. <3\. (Also, it's totally her fault that I'm even writing in this fandom.)

 

Arthur wasn’t quite comfortable with the realization that he was a bit obsessed with Eames.

It had come to him in the middle of one sleepless night in Stockholm, when he was meant to be researching their next job. Arthur had stretched out on his back, suit jacket off, tie undone and stared at the cracks on the ceiling of the midrange hotel room, feeling overwhelmed with the simple knowledge that he had seen most of Eames’ body- but not all.  He could picture with almost painful detail the bits of skin on Eames’ arms that weren’t covered by his shirts. Eames was fond of dress shirts (although horribly patterned ones) rolled up to just under his elbow. Arthur had seen the hint of letters, and of what looked to be some kind of scrollwork of a larger design. Mere hints, but nothing for certain.

Arthur could picture the skin on Eames’ tanned neck, and the hint of ink as the tattoo peeked from just under his collarbone from one time when Arthur had started to collapse, and had been saved from face planting on the concrete by Eames’ quick reflexes.  Arthur had grabbed the shirt, vertigo and blood loss sending his reflexes out of whack, and had gotten an eyeful before he’d righted himself and stepped away.  

When Eames hadn’t moved quickly enough, Arthur had seen the word ‘DIE’ near Eames’ hip. The rest of what had been written there was obscured by the blood of the .38 caliber gunshot, and Arthur had been a little too busy to worry about it. But after, he’d imagined tracing his finger over the letters and had been utterly appalled at himself.

Interest turned to preoccupation, which turned very quickly to obsession. Arthur found himself staring at out of the corner of his eye at the almost larger-than-life man, and once managed to humiliate himself when Cobb needed his attention and he wasn’t paying attention.   _That_ was unacceptable. Unprofessional.  He’d spent too long building his professional reputation and it was absolutely infuriating that he couldn’t make his own brain focus long enough to _get the hell over it._

Which brought him to his current plan.

A dream.

A chance for Arthur to live out this ridiculous obsession in a way that wouldn’t obliterate his professional relationship with Eames.

The _ethics_ of it was the only thing giving him pause. Fantasizing about him was one thing. That was almost involuntary. People often couldn’t control their sexual dreams, nor could they help what jumped into their head.

Arthur felt as though he _should_ be able to though, but his brain was more organized than most.  

But...

This was different. The tube of the IV would administer the Somnacin as soon as he put in the needle. Fortunately, the cannula had a retractable needle for easy self-administration.  He just had to push the trigger, and....

But _should_ he?

Arthur knew more about lucid dreaming than just about anyone. He knew the stories of jobs gone wrong, of people preferring to be lost in their head and their dreams than facing reality.  He was pretty sure those people had also started with something small, something that seemed fairly innocuous...

The cut of Eames’ perfectly-tanned musculature just above his hip flashed into Arthur’s head, the black carefully inked  ‘DIE’ almost taunting in its boldness. Like Eames, it was sharp, and enthralling, and _obnoxious_ , and he couldn’t get it the fuck out of his head.

Arthur didn’t know much about Eames’ life outside of working with his team.  He could make some guesses:  Eames was intelligent, had some sort of formalized military training, possibly some body building or body guarding at some point. He _knew_ people. He knew what they wanted, what they needed, what they wished for. That was just one of the many reasons that made him a phenomenal forger.

Oh for fuck’s sake.  Perfectly-tanned? Enthralling? _Phenomenal_?

Arthur hissed in frustration and pushed in the trigger on the PASIV.

 

****

 

Shit! He was late!  Arthur _loathed_ being late. He knew that he had to fill this absolutely asinine fine arts credit before he could graduate, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t procrastinate like it was his job. He’d waited until almost the last possible second for the half a credit, and as a result the photography class he had wanted to take was filled. As was the music theory, and even the slightly-desperate pottery class.

Which left Arthur with painting.

Fucking _painting._

He’d had absolutely no artistic inclination as a child. Any creativity he had would be channeled into planning or ideas. He was very good at making things that needed to happen _work_ , and even had shown some early skill with weapons.  He planned to enlist after he received his degree, but he couldn’t _get_ the damn thing if he didn’t get this credit.

It infuriated Arthur that he had been stupid enough to wait until the last minute. It was a ridiculous and juvenile, and he was neither.

So it was with admittedly bad grace that Arthur made his way to the first class. He sat his easel and paint case next to him. Pride kept Arthur from admitting that his paint case had exactly three different paints, two brushes and a small palette, all still in their original plastic. He stole glances from the corner of his eyes and saw that the other students in the room had what looked like paint cases that had been added to for years and years.  

“May I sit here?”

The woman was petite, almost waif-like.  Arthur stared at her for a minute before frowning and nodding.  She didn’t take much notice of his frown, and seemed to have no problem with spreading her things around the small workstation.

“We don’t get a lot of guys in here.” She smiled a little wickedly. “Just him.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, behind her.  Arthur had noticed the blonde man and the dark-haired woman (her accent was as thick and smoky as a Parisian bar) talking quietly with their heads together, but hadn’t wanted to disturb them. They both moved with the ease and grace of a couple who had been together so long that they knew where the other one would be.  “Oh, and him, of course. Mr. Eames.”

Arthur turned to follow the jerk of her head and froze.

The man at the front of the room wore a truly appalling robe. It looked as though it had several differently patterned fabrics all strung together in eye-popping disharmony. He fiddled with some of the objects on the small stage, making sure that the light was good.

“Alright, everyone, thank you for making it back this semester.” He flashed a grin that made Arthur blush to the roots of his hair for some reason.

Arthur dug through his messenger bag in some confusion, feeling very much like a fish out of water.

“Oh... hello.” The man moved forward, and Arthur was forced to make eye contact. “Most of these twats have been around for ages, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to Advanced Life Painting.”

Arthur dug through his bag for his schedule, before pulling it out of a folder and staring at it in dismay. Belatedly he realized that the man’s hand was still out, his posture relaxed even though he was wearing the god-awful robe.  Arthur felt a little rushed when he flung out his hand, but Eames clasped it in his own, enveloping Arthur’s smaller, more elegant hand in his larger one. Arthur swallowed hard at the heat of Mr. Eames’ body, and stared dumbly down at the old scars on the bigger man’s knuckles.

“What’s the matter, darling? You look as though you’ve received the absolute _worst_ news.”

Arthur managed to take his hand back, barely noticing that for a second all of the students in the room stared hard at him with an almost palpable sense of maleficence. He was disquieted enough to shiver and step back from both Mr. Eames and the girl next to him.  Arthur realized he was still holding the crumpled piece of paper and brandished his schedule, ignoring the momentary weirdness of the room.

“I’ve never painted before! I thought this was a basic class- not an advanced one. I better go get my schedule chang---”

Eames clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. “Bad luck, mate. I’m afraid that none of the other classes are open. But don’t worry. You’re not my only babe in the woods.”

Arthur gulped. The girl next to him grinned and nodded, ducking her head a little bashfully. Eames clicked his tongue. “Ariadne here is quite talented, and is only attending this class due to a mistake in the admissions office.   Still, she manages quite nicely.  Bit dodgy on the hands, but everyone is when they first start out. And you’ll be fine; it’s an accelerated class. You’ll be done in a mere month.”   Eames winked, then stood and clapped his hands. “Okay! We’ll have two hours of seat time, then a small break.”

Arthur blinked, unable to rid himself of the niggling feeling that he was missing something.  He stared after Eames a little shell-shocked, eyes wide in his face. For a teacher, Mr. Eames was like a tsunami of... of something. Arthur couldn’t quite say when it had happened, but from one panicked moment digging in his messenger bag to now, he’d accepted and was even cautiously looking forward to the idea of ‘advanced life painting’.

The flurry of people getting easels and paints ready almost distracted from the sight of Eames walking up to the small stage and watching silently, like a king overseeing his subjects. There was a sudden silence that Arthur didn’t quite understand, and Eames slid out of the robe.

He was obviously not body shy, and Arthur saw no reason for him to be. His body was toned, the musculature defined as though chiseled out of stone. Eames was darkly tanned all over, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice that Eames must either sunbathe or go to tanning beds fully nude, because there were no lines _anywhere._  Eames’ full lips twitched in a smirk, and Arthur jumped at the feeling of Ariadne’s sharp elbow in his side.

“ _Breathe_!” she hissed.

Any hope of professionalism was held only in check only by Ariadne's presence.  Arthur gulped and reached for some black paint and a thin brush.  He was fairly okay at drawing, but he’d never painted, and certainly not to this scale. His panicked  plan was to just sketch Eames’ outline, like he’d do with charcoal or pencils.

Eames raised one leg, Captain Morgan-style, and Arthur almost swallowed his tongue. He was sure that his face must be apple-red by now. Generally, Arthur wasn’t the type of guy to go around comparing dick sizes, but, well, it was hard not to stare. Impossible not to notice.

Arthur licked his lips.

Eventually, though, Arthur managed to get his scattered wits to focus. He tentatively lightened some of his black paint with a dab of white and began. He used his paint brush like he would a pencil and began with a very rough looking outline of Mr. Eames’ body. He knew that if he screwed up he could always paint over it, but Arthur was enough of a perfectionist that he didn't want to make the mistake in the first place.

A feeling of calm came over him has he tried to recreate the lines of Eames’ body on the canvas. For a almost an hour, he lost himself in the feeling of brush and canvas, relaxing in a way that he did not expect. The embarrassment from before at seeing Eames naked drained away. Arthur mixed paint to get the tan-gold tone of Eames’ skin color just right, and started filling in his lines. It was far from perfect (far, far from perfect) but it was exciting, too. He skipped Eames’ head, feet and hands, because he made the poor guy look more like Slenderman than anything else. Arthur had never really thought of himself as artistic before, but to see a likeness of Eames’ image gave him a solid feeling of accomplishment.

It wasn’t until much later, after a break and the somewhat passive-aggressive comments from some of the other students on his lack of style, that Arthur tried to start painting the detail of Eames’ tattoos with a very small brush that he borrowed from Ariadne.  There was a strange trick of the light that made the tattoos on Eames’ body almost... blurry. Indistinct. It was strange given the almost painfully clear line of Eames’ musculature.  

Arthur frowned and squinted, trying to make out the detail as he turned back to his easel. For some reason, the tattoos made Arthur concentrate like he had not done before. He was much more focused and had a very clear image of what each one should look like, despite the way he couldn’t quite make them out on Eames’ body.

“You didn’t even notice that I wasn’t standing up front anymore.”  The lilt of Eames’ voice in Arthur’s ear caused him to jump, and his paintbrush clattered down onto his pallette, causing a small arc of tiny black specs of paint to fountain over the still-shiny paint torso of the Eames on his canvas.

“Shit!” Arthur froze, feeling the heat of Eames behind him, standing much too close. “ _Shit!”_ He swore again, realizing all at once that every person in the room, including Ariadne was staring at him.

Arthur’s skin pricked with a feeling of _wrong_ just before something dark moved in the small woman’s eyes. She picked up a pallette knife and before Arthur could react, he felt Eames’ arms lock around him and pull, barely out of the arc of the weapon’s blade.

Arthur fell in what almost felt like slow motion, feeling strangely like he was swimming through molasses. Mr. Eames’ heart beat a fast rhythm from behind him. The solid weight of the heavily-muscled arms around him made Arthur feel strangely safe; and he had time for one, quick thought

 

**_-dream-_ **

 

before Arthur woke up, staring up into the eyes of a coldly-mocking, wickedly-amused Eames. Arthur knew at once what had happened, and stared at the beeping timer with a glare.

That smarmy fuck had hijacked his dream!

Cobb had long jury-rigged a simple machine that literally yanked their feet out from under them. It provided a kick by jerking the chair, tipping it over and knocking the dreamer to the ground. It was so effective that it sometimes took the PASIV with it, which is why Cobb hadn’t used it very much.  

Eames obviously had.

“What’s the matter, darling? Feeling tragically, artistically manipulated?”

Arthur yanked the needle out of his arm, ignoring the sting. Habit had him reaching for one of the Band-Aids that they kept in the PASIV case, along with some alcohol swabs in case someone bled more than expected.

The details of his dream started to filter back, and embarrassment followed hard on its heels. Unfortunately, Arthur knew that he could be as righteously indignant as he wanted to be, but the fact of the matter was that _he_ had set up the whole dream in the first place in order to see something of Eames that the other man kept private. Caught as a voyeur with one of your co-workers.

Awkward.

Arthur felt his cheeks flush as he stood up, carefully looking everywhere but at Eames. Once when he was a teenager, he’d been caught staring at a crush while he should have been working on the labwork.  The girl had mocked him, and her friends had made Arthur glad when his parents had moved again, and Arthur had never forgotten the feeling.

This was much more personal, more intimate. Like being caught masturbating.

He didn’t know what to do, or how to respond. Arthur ignored Eames’ mad scramble from behind him and walked quickly down the hallway, scooping up his gun and his keys on the way.

“Arthur! Damnit, _wait_!”

Arthur was already thinking through his exit strategy, making certain he had the accounts in order. Now of course, things from his dream made sense... how he was both dressed in the suit he was wearing now, and dressed like the college student he had never been. Arthur had gone to a community college for a semester, but had immediately been recruited into the military. He’d skipped the ‘studying-for-finals, drinking-coffee-with-a-beanie-and-neckbeard’ phase of life, but when he saw kids like Ariadne, Arthur recognized that he always kind of wanted to have that chance.

Or about how Eames’ projections, all as art students that Arthur sort of recognized, as dream-versions of people he knew had gotten more aggressive the more dream-him had focused on Eames’ tattoos, the way they’d been blurry with bizarre dream logic.

 _Fuck_.

Arthur made it all the way to the door before Eames’ larger hand slammed it shut in front of him, crowding Arthur’s smaller body with his own so that Eames was right up in his space, body flush against his.

“You have no reason to run from me.”

Arthur shut his eyes, face burning. Here it was. The end of everything, the condescending pat on the head that ended their working relationship. He knew he should have just... just gone with it. Ignored his stupid obsession, and gotten the fuck over his weird and really rather creepy need to see all of Eames’ tattoos, and just dealt.

But no. He had to push, and _push_ and--

Eames’ lips brushed against the back of Arthur’s neck. The sensation was so light that for a second, Arthur thought he’d just imagined it. But, Eames did it again, and Arthur was so shocked that he froze completely, like a predator well and truly caught by its prey.

“You can go out that door if you want...” Eames trailed off, pushing his hips forward until Arthur felt the heat of Eames’ groin against his ass. “And we won’t have to talk about any of this. But, I think you’ll regret it, yeah?”  Eames bent again and gently scraped his teeth against the very top of Arthur’s spine, his breath humid on Arthur’s sensitive skin. Arthur sucked in a deep breath, feeling dizzy from lack of air.  He turned around, pressing his back against the door. Arthur had to push Eames away with his flat hand on the bigger man’s chest; he felt as though there was not enough space to breathe.  He forced himself to look up at Eames, his other hand digging in his pocket for his totem.

It was almost more surreal as the pads of Arthur’s fingertips brushed against the dips on the weighted side of the die, almost like the fact that he _wasn’t_ dreaming was more bizarre than the fact that he had recently woken up.  He could feel Eames’ heartbeat against the flat of his other hand.  Eames inhaled, and Arthur’s gaze went to the open neck of his shirt, where he could just barely see the writing of one of his tattoos. Arthur’s whole body flushed.

“What are your terms?”  Arthur was pleased that his voice didn’t shake. He felt as though he’d had all the air sucked from the room, and he was a little uncomfortable with the realization that he was hard. It was nerve-wracking being this vulnerable. One never knew with Eames- he could be dead serious or just finding all of this absolutely hilarious.

“Terms?”

“What do you want, Eames?”

Understanding flashed in Eames’ blue gaze. He licked his thick lips and Arthur had to force himself to jerk his gaze up from the hollow of Eames’ neck to meet his knowing gaze.  Eames brought his hand up and brushed it against Arthur’s throat. Arthur couldn’t help but swallow hard, completely turned on by the size difference. In the year or so since the Inception job, Eames had bulked up quite a bit, so much so that some of his clothes didn’t fit perfectly; buttons looking as though they were ready to give up at any moment. He had always been noticeable in a room- except when he didn’t want to be. Now he seemed to dwarf the space around him. Arthur, who was not a very large man (he and Ariadne could share jeans in a pinch) felt the restrained danger in the simple touch, and felt whatever blood he’d had in his brain move steadily south.

The space between Eames’ thumb and forefinger almost completely encircled the much thinner column of Arthur’s throat. Eames’ hand brushed down his clavicle, lightly over his pec, and rested over the crazily-beating thud of Arthur’s heart, mirroring where his palm was on Eames’ chest.

Eames didn’t have to lean forward. He was taller than Arthur, and curved forward almost as though he wanted to kiss, but stopped a bare breath away from Arthur’s mouth.

“You, darling. I want... _you_.”

WIth that, Eames pressed his lips against Arthur’s, and Arthur moved his hand to Eames’ shoulders as their mouths met for the first time. Arthur heard a low, breathy sound and only realized he had been the one to make it when Eames echoed him, pressing forward even more so Arthur’s head knocked against the door. Their mouths opened, tongues flicking against one another’s. Arthur could taste the gum Eames must have had before dreaming, and could smell the  woody citrus scent of Eames’ cologne where it clung to his heated skin.  

Eames’ lips were chapped against Arthur’s smooth ones, but Arthur hardly noticed. One of them, maybe both of them tilted their heads, changing the angle of the kiss and before Arthur could quite parse out how it happened, Eames had hauled Arthur up so that he could cup Arthur’s ass with his big hands. Arthur flung his arms out for balance, pulling away from the kiss with a heaving gasp of oxygen, dizzy for more than one reason.

Eames continued to kiss him up against the door, moving down and sucking on Arthur’s bared neck. Arthur was pretty sure that this kind of thing only happened in cheesy porn novels, but he was too busy wrapping his arms around Eames’ solid shoulders to appreciate the irony.

Eames pulled away slowly, panting a little as he tried to catch his breath. He was heavy, and a little sweaty as he rested his forehead against Arthur’s.

“Tell me why.”

Arthur opened his sex-stupid eyelids, trying to blink the too-close Eames into focus. Eames held him easily, his fingers playing with his asscheeks through the material of Arthur’s underwear and suit slacks. It was distracting enough that, for a second, Arthur had trouble thinking.  

Arthur realized all at once what Eames was asking and darted his gaze downward, looking at the bulge of Eames’ cock in the small space between their bodies. He caught his  lower lip in his teeth, skin pricking with the uncomfortable realization that he was going to need to confess- and he should; what he’d done had been pretty shady, ethically.

Eames let go of him and Arthur started to drop his legs- a little unsure of when he’d wrapped them around Eames’ thickly muscled thighs. Eames simply shifted even closer, brushing his cock with Arthur’s, using the wall to hold him in place as he brushed his thumb over Arthur’s lip. On impulse, Arthur laved at it with his tongue and watched Eames’ eyelashes flutter shut.

The obvious need Eames felt for him gave Arthur some shaky sort of confidence, and he was able to talk.

“I owe you an apology.”

Eames raised an eyebrow. “You don’t owe me a thing, love. But I would like to know why all the... fuss.” HIs grin turned wicked. “In your own time, of course.”

Arthur knew enough to know that ‘in your own time’ meant ‘hurry the fuck up and speak’, and if he had _had_ any doubts, the way Eames moved his hips in a filthy grind pretty much obliterated any of them. The friction felt incredible, and Arthur was speaking almost before he thought about exactly what he wanted to say.

“Your... tattoos. I. _Unngh_. You never show them to anyone, and. I- oh _Christ-_ I. Was...”

Eames bent down and kissed him again, cupping the back of Arthur’s head and dragging his fingers through the thick strands of hair. He yanked a little, and Arthur yipped a moan, shocked at the sensation. It didn’t hurt, but it made his scalp feel overly sensitive, tingly. It was all Arthur could do to keep up with the kiss. He was vaguely aware that Eames had fully taken his weight again, and was swinging him through the rented house. Arthur processed that they moved through the  living room (where the PASIV had been), to the kitchen, before Eames set him down with a graceless _thunk_ on the kitchen table, and had stepped back to rip off his shirt. Buttons pinged off in all sort of directions, then the muted paisley shirt flew across the room.

All of the moisture in Arthur’s throat dried up at once, leaving his throat painfully sore.  His eyes darted around the huge trunk of Eames’ torso, from a swirl of ink there, to block letters; dips and whorls of different-colored ink. He found himself reaching up to trace them with fingers that shook, unsure of why exactly this was affecting him so much.

“What...” Arthur trailed off, arching up to kiss the ink over Eames’ left pectoral, a surprisingly sweet gesture that he immediately regretted.  He stared down at the table, frowning.

This wasn’t about that, whatever _this_ was.

Eames, as usual, seemed to know what Arthur meant. He moved away slightly and Arthur looked up as Eames cocked his head. “I got some of them to remind me of people, or places. Some to remind me that I can trust myself, above all others.” He waited a minute and pointed to one on the inside of his bicep that Arthur had never noticed before.

It was a stylized **A** , written in a calligraphy script.

Arthur’s heart did something funny; for a minute it almost felt like his heart and stomach switched spaces inside of him. “That new?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout a year or so, now.”

“Oh.”

Eames snorted. “Yeah. _Oh_ ,” he mocked, bending down and tilting up Arthur’s chin. This time when their lips met, the kiss had changed completely. Arthur had never had something like this, something that was so give and take. It wasn’t gentle, but it was easy to lose himself again in the heat and the pull of Eames’ mouth.

Feeling nervous, Arthur slowly separated his mouth from Eames and lay back on the surface of the table. The bend of his knees fit against the edge of the table. Arthur spread his hands out to either side and gripped the edge. He was on display like this; and Eames’ caught breath was gratifying in its intensity.

Arthur found a strange confidence with Eames’ obvious regard and smirked up at him, fingers quickly unbuttoning his cuffs and opening the buttons on his vest.  Eames stared down at him with a strange look on his face, brushing his large hands over Arthur’s knees and thighs while Arthur shrugged out of his tie, dress shirt, and vest. He had to sit up a little to take off his t-shirt, but was able to do so without losing too much of his dignity. His hair was a mess from Eames’ fingers before, and it fell over his left eye. The wood of the table was cool against his overheated back.

Eames’ hand slid up over Arthur’s dick, trapped as it was in his suit trousers. Arthur’s eyelids closed, fluttering a little at the sudden friction. Eames’ fingers found the head and Arthur grunted again when he stroked over it, tightening his fingers and pressing the palm of his hand against the thick flesh.

“Do your belt.”

Arthur’s eyelids popped open at the low whisper and he fumbled a little in his haste to comply. He could feel where he’d seeped precome onto a wet spot through his underwear and the fine material of his Westwood. His hands shook a little as he opened the belt, trying not to arch up into Eames’ touch. Eames unzipped his zipper and lifted out his cock, and the relief of it made Arthur cry out.  Eames’ thumb swiped across the head, and Arthur watched with wide eyes as Eames reached out  and traced the shiny digit across Arthur’s own lips. Arthur licked at the precome on his lips and it was Eames’ turn to look undone.

“Lovely.” Eames lazily started moving his wrist, fisting Arthur’s cock through his tightly curled fingers.

Arthur dragged in breath that seemed all at once too heavy and not enough as he kicked off his loafers, twisting awkwardly to get his socks off and raising his ass to kick off the rest of his clothes. He heard change go pinging across the floor as the rest of the expensive, but ruined, suit flew against the microwave.

Eames let go of his cock and bent forward to kiss Arthur again. Arthur’s nakedness gave an extra layer of surrealness to the whole encounter, and feeling the bulge of Eames’ clothed, trapped, cock press against his balls when Eames reached up to kiss him made Arthur’s own cock twitch. Eames’ kiss was rough, the press of his lips changing again so that Arthur had trouble keeping up, feeling as though as soon as he sucked in air, Eames was stealing it with the press of his tongue and the humidity of his mouth.

Arthur could feel the rub of Eames’ clothes against his tingling skin and sensitive nipples. He quickly found himself arching into Eames’ body above him, jolting when Eames’ cock pressed against his perineum.

“If I’d thought things would happen this way I would have brought slick and spent hours making you ready for my dick, opening your little hole up with my fingers and mouth until you were sobbing for me.”

Arthur gasped, his hands coming up to Eames’ sweaty back, sliding down over the globes of his ass and pulling Eames’ lower body closer to his.

“But I didn’t, and now you have to decide, darling. My hands or my mouth. How do you want me to bring you off?”

Arthur had to pause a second as a bevy of images rocked through his mind. Eames’ hands were everything that he wanted, but the idea of his _mouth_... “M-mouth,” he stuttered, staring up into Eames’ face as it turned predatory. Eames licked his lips and bent down, and Arthur refused to look away.

Eames didn’t fuck around.

His lips slid over the head of Arthur’s cock, mouth hot and humid.  He didn’t stop, clearly intending to go all the way to the base. Arthur shouted when Eames had to pull off, gagged a little, coughed and went right back down, ignoring his gag reflex and sucking hard. Arthur couldn’t help the way his body bowed over, thighs arching up and back curving so that he was looking down at the back of Eames’ now bobbing head, desperately trying to find somewhere to put his hands to ground himself. Eames unceremoniously yanked Arthur’s palms to the back of his head and pressed, indicating what he wanted.

“Oh, Christ,” Arthur muttered and began tentatively pushing Eames’ head down onto his cock, fucking up into the heat and the wetness of Eames’ throat at the same time. He heard Eames’ groan of approval, and they quickly found a rhythm that worked for both of them.

It was hot, and fast, and Arthur didn’t think he could stop himself from coming down Eames’ throat if Cobb burst into the room with a camera.

Arthur yanked _hard_ and trembled helplessly, freezing as he came and came, certain he was babbling something but absolutely giving no fucks, greedy in that moment for everything he could keep feeling.

Eames tapped his thigh and Arthur let go immediately. Eames came up for air, eyes leaking tears and his face red, mouth swollen and wet, but grinning so madly that if Arthur had any control over any of the muscles in his body, he would respond in kind.  He bent his head and licked at Arthur’s spent, over-sensitive cock, and Arthur jerked, not entirely sure he didn’t just come again.

Eames let him rest for a second, rubbing his arms and legs, looking even more smug at the way Arthur’s sweat-drenched muscles trembled.

It took him a moment, but Arthur managed to get his wits about him, shakily putting his feet onto the floor.  “You sure you don’t want me to try and find some...”

“No. Later.” Eames’ voice was even lower than usual and sounded absolutely filthy. Eames stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes, standing and leaning slightly against the countertop.  He held onto the edge and stared down at Arthur. The grin from before faded into a look that Arthur could only term as smug, like seeing him absolutely wrecked was all that Eames had ever wanted in the world.

Arthur nodded and forced himself to move. He felt like a colt on brand new legs as he listed to the side, then caught himself before Eames could do anything to help.  Even after all of that his cheeks burned with embarrassment at his small moment of weakness, and he wished for his suit, or a gun, or something to feel more secure than what he was now, naked and standing in front of the man he’d obsessed over for so long.

Eames tilted up Arthur’s chin and looked at him questioningly, and Arthur mentally cursed himself for being an idiot. He took Eames’ fingers and guided them back onto the countertop.

“My turn, Mr. Eames. You keep your hands right here, and try not to move.” Arthur hadn’t exactly given a lot of blowjobs in his life, and certainly to no one who had a dick the size of Eames’. It wasn’t just long, but the girth of it made Arthur’s spent cock twitch a little. He might have been slightly intimidated by Eames’ bulk- not just his dick but the whole of him- but Arthur wouldn’t exactly be announcing _that_ anytime soon. Eames holding still would put some of the power back in Arthur’s hands, and he found that he craved that.  “You can talk if you want; frankly, I don’t think I could get you to shut up even if I wanted to.” He paused, thinking. “And you’re to tell me if you don’t like something immediately. Otherwise...” Arthur knelt in front of Eames, whose eyes darkened at the sight. “Let me do this.”

Eames sighed and relaxed a little. Arthur didn’t think he could just go down on Eames’ cock like the other rman did to him- _shit_. He didn’t think anyone outside of a porno could. Arthur reached out and slid his hand down the base. He wished he could have seen what the two of them looked like together, maybe had Eames’ big hands stroke them, with Arthur’s smaller hand doing its best to reach around.  Eames caught his breath, but Arthur didn’t look up yet. He was heavy, and hot, and the weight of it pulsed slightly in Arthur’s grip. Ignoring the head for now, Arthur bent and kissed at the cut of Eames’ hip, biting slightly and sucking on the skin there.  Eames spread his legs, and Arthur manoeuvred so he could stroke over Eames’ balls with his free hand, lifting and licking where he could. Eames sucked in a shuddering breath, and Arthur smirked a little, pulling at the excess skin with his lips and watching it tighten up. Eames smelled amazing, like bitter precome and fresh, clean sweat. Arthur used his other hand, ignoring the way that Eames’ thick cock slapped lightly against his cheek and temple as he mouthed over Eames’ balls, licking and sucking until Eames was making little rocking motions with his hips.

He held to what Arthur had directed though, not letting go of the countertop.

Feeling much more confident, Arthur bit at the inside of Eames’ thigh. They both moaned when  a small bit of fluid leaked out of Eames’ cock and onto Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur pulled away, looking up the long line of Eames’ body and waiting until Eames stared down at him with wide, shocked eyes before sitting  back on his folded legs a little to reach up and guide Eames’ cock to his mouth.  Several clear lines of sticky precome had slid down the shaft, and still dribbled over Arthur’s fingers as he used one hand to guide. He bent to kiss the head with an open-mouthed kiss, sucking a little. Fortunately for Arthur’s blowjob skills, Eames wasn’t too ridiculously proportioned to not fit in Arthur’s mouth, but he went slow, working his lips down over the dark red, spongy head.

He pulled off, and did it again, purposely using a lot of saliva to make the shaft as wet as possible. Arthur licked at the thick vein underneath, and again at the frenulum, then licked back down to meet his grasping fingers.

Eames moaned at that, but Arthur still didn’t go down on him. He teased still more, drawing it out, ignoring the way his back ached from the awkward position on the floor.

“Arthur, please....”

_Ah. There we go._

Arthur rewarded Eames oh-so-polite behavior with moving his mouth back to the head and sucking hard, bringing his fist up to his mouth to stroke over the part of Eames that he couldn’t reach with his mouth.  

Eames cried out again and Arthur doubled his efforts, concentrating on the sensitive head. He stopped at one point, waiting patiently for Eames to open his eyes and look down at him again, loving the picture he made on his knees like this, mouth stretched around Eames’ fat cock. Eames started begging outright then, and Arthur rewarded the loss of control by sucking harder, bobbing his head quickly enough that his hair, already a mess, flopped every which way.

He heard the countertop creak alarmingly from Eames’ white-knuckled grip and had just enough time for the fleeting thought that maybe, since Eames obviously liked the filthy image Arthur presented as much as Arthur liked presenting it, he should do him one better. With his other hand, he stroked over Eames’ sac again, tugging slightly.

When Eames’ came, Arthur pulled his mouth off, leaving his lips open enough that Eames could shoot all over his lips, and chin, and watch his own come dribble onto Arthur’s knees. Arthur made a complete mess of it, smearing his wet lips against the sensitive head, sucking a little in retaliation for when Eames had done it to him.

“Fucking.... Fuckall... _Fuck,_ Arthur.” Eames gasped, raising a shaking hand to rifle through his sweat-soaked hair.

Arthur had trouble not beaming as he got up, wincing as his joints popped. He kissed each tattoo as he moved his way up Eames’ body, and Eames laughed, absolutely delighted at him, hugging Arthur to him hard.

“You delightfully sick little fuck. I had hoped, but I never dreamed that you’d be... that we’d...” Eames broke off speaking and the hug in some confusion, allowing Arthur space to step back. Arthur used his undershirt to wipe all their fluids off of his body, although he wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t have come in his hair. After searching for a minute, Arthur spied his clothes, bent and pulled on his underwear.

Eames watched him with a small smile on his face, and it was so like the dream that Arthur paused for a second, cocking his head. He had another moment of doubt that this was reality. Eames once had told him to “dream a little bigger, darling” and what if this was just Arthur doing exactly that? What if he was lost somewhere in a dream with Eames, and--

The knock on the door startled them both. Arthur made a sound that he would deny to his dying day was a squeak and scooped up his clothes.

“Eames? Arthur? You there?” Ariadne’s voice sounded muffled through the door, and Arthur practically _dove_ into his crumpled suit as Eames lazily pulled on his pants and left them unbuttoned so that they hung precariously over his hips.  There was another knock, and he skulked slowly over to the door, tossing one quick look back over his shoulder at Arthur trying to smooth down his hair.  His eyebrow winged up at the way Arthur jammed his hand into his pocket for his totem, checking once again for its validity.

Eame opened the door, and a grumpy-looking Ariadne stomped in, carrying a large box. Eames helped her and once her hands were free, she fisted them on her hips, looking from Eames, to Arthur, and back to Eames again.

Neither she nor Arthur missed the way Eames angled his body as though to protect Arthur from Ari’s censure, but froze when she snorted and shook her head.

“Jesus. About damn time, you two.”

Arthur’s cheeks turned fire-engine red.

“Thanks, love. And, if you don’t mind, we’d like to get right back to it, so...?”

“Actually, I’m just here to drop this off. Do you know why Cobb wanted me to bring over all of Mal’s old art supplies? One of you plan on doing some finger painting or something?”

Arthur froze, realizing at once exactly what Eames must have gone through to accomplish this, to hijack _Arthur’s own dream_. The timing would have had to be perfect. Eames would have had to have some idea of what Arthur had planned, and been able to be an architect _and_ forger for what he had in mind, setting the scene in a way that didn’t make Arthur’s projections react until they were forced to.  Eames wasn’t just reacting to the situation. He had planned and plotted just as much as Arthur- maybe not foreseeing the end bit with the mutual blowjobs, but providing a backup plan that would allow Arthur to still see him naked, to give him free reign to obsess over Eames’ tattoos with actual art equipment.

Arthur couldn’t help the stupid, goofy grin that lit his face as he stared at Eames, whose own face stretched into the same ridiculous smile.

“Uh. Guys? Not gonna answer my--- oh. Oh, that’s _gross_. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you two look so completely besotted and frankly, I just ate, so I’m just gonna leave this here. _Don’t_ feel like you need to let me know what you’re planning on doing with it, and never, ever show me the results.” She set the box down on an end table, ignoring the _clank_ as paintbrushes rolled around inside.

Ariadne wrinkled her nose in mock disgust, but it was obvious she wasn’t completely serious as she backed out of the doorway, shutting it behind her.

Arthur turned on his heel and walked up the staircase, waiting until he was almost on the second floor before calling out. “Hey, you gonna join me in this shower, or what?”

There was an almost shocked beat of silence, and Arthur _almost_ regretted fucking with him.

Almost.

Eames’ heavy tread raced up the stairs, and Arthur turned to meet him, feeling almost ridiculously happy, hopeful and nervous at what they were about to undertake all at once. Eames, read him like a book, halting mere inches away and raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Eames asked, all the things that neither of them would probably ever say weighted in the one syllable. Eames held his breath, waiting for Arthur’s answer.

Arthur reached out and touched the tattoo, _his_ tattoo on Eames’ arm.

“Yeah.”

This time when their lips met, it was with a promise and hint of what was to come, what they could accomplish... together.

 

 

 

 

**_THE END_ **

  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I usually have more fun with reverse bangs than with big bangs- The art is always amazing and it's so much fun. If any of you know of any in one of my fandoms, please don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> And last, but certainly not least....don't forget to drop by [ and give the artist some love](http://hanjinxed.tumblr.com/image/153112939095)!


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